Mistletoe and Whiskey
by CompanionToMisterHolmes
Summary: 'some drunken Christmas escapades.' A little saucier than my usual fluff but still miles away from actual saucy :P Sherlock/Molly (mainly, plenty of Sherlolly for the Christmas lover) and John/Mary (who I couldn't resist giving fluffy couple nicknames)


**A prompt fill for the lovely MorbidByDefault (who if you haven't you should read the brilliance of :) Who am I kidding of course you have) I certainly took my time over it :D **

**It's probably not a T, I'm stupidly tame. **

**Do enjoy :)**

* * *

Molly had been drunk very few times in her life, it didn't exactly bode well with her line of work or her working hours, and it most certainly didn't lend itself to her social inadequacy throughout her younger years. But this time was one of the few where she'd given into the intoxication that came with her favourite wine (and 5 tumblers of whiskey) and was one of the reasons she was now stumbling into the doors of 221b, inebriated and systematically removing the clothing of a drunk consulting detective.

* * *

"What the hell, it's Christmas!" it was quite unlike Molly to accept the invitation to escape the lab, morgue or her flat and have a night out with her best, and really only close friend Mary, but it was Christmas as that's what normal people did she supposed.

A shocked Mary, although excited to see Molly out of her natural habitat, faltered upon the acceptance. "Fine, but you're missing out… wait, what? Did you say yes?"

"Uh-huh." Molly nodded in quite conformation.

"Okay, well, good. That's brilliant!" The surprise was clear in Mary's tone.

"So where are you dragging me too, do I have to get changed from my work stuff?" If she were honest, Molly may have been looking forward to going out, but the hair removal and preening that came with the challenge of dressing up was not always welcome.

"Yes! Of course you have to get changed out of your work clothes Molly. Something highly flattering and figure hugging is in order, and we are going out and that is all you need to know!" Mary said defiantly although the look of shock was still set in the subtle lines of her face.

"You hadn't planned past me actually saying yes, had you? You have no idea where we're going, do you?" The smug look that crossed Molly's features was not uncommon within the woman's friendships, Mary rarely expected more of Molly than going out on her birthday and Molly relished in occasionally proving her wrong.

Mary's voice was quite and low, she hated to admit she was wrong but it had to be done, Molly knew anyway. "No, I have no idea." Then here spirited tones came back to her voice, "… but that doesn't stop you looking drop dead gorgeous and grabbing a few drop dead gorgeous men, at The Fox. It's close to your flat… so if you begin to bore of me you can easily go home."

"Oh Mary, I could never bore of you, become increasingly annoyed and uncomfortable at the abundant and overt show of affections towards John, but never bore. I assume we'll be meeting John at The Fox; you obviously had plans with him considering you thought these plans wouldn't go beyond the asking." Molly knew all she said was true, and she loved Mary to bits but she was very expressive over her love for John, and her going out without him would be like Molly going out and leaving an arm or a leg at home.

"Yes, we'll be meeting John, but that was the plan even if you did say yes, he maybe my boyfriend, but he is your friend too." Although Mary looked offended she realised the way she acted toward John, someone Molly had introduced her to, could probably be a little stomach turning if you weren't in a relationship, or even if you were, just by looking at the display for too long.

"I know, and it'll be lovely to see him, only if you promise to keep yourself to yourself for at least a while. Anyway there's no need to get dressed up for John, I can just go like this surely." Gesturing to the childish and loose fitting top and jeans she was wearing, Molly looked down at her formless clothing and struggled to even find appraisal from herself. Mary just gave her 'that look' causing Molly to sigh in resignation; maybe it'll feel good to dress up. "Fine, I see your point, it will take a while for me to improve upon though, meet you at 8?"

"Sounds good to me Molls, remember I want you looking drop dead gorgeous… I know full well you have jeans in the back of your wardrobe which are capable of that."

* * *

"No! Why on earth would I want to leave Baker Street just to go to a mundane, excessively crowded and _stupidly _noisy pub, just to watch you make googly eyes at you paramour, whilst you both suggestively touch each other in some form of attempted inconspicuousness? I notice things John, it's my job." It was a rare time that Sherlock did not look disgruntled, now was not one of those rare times.

"Come on mate, it's Christmas Eve. And you like Mary, reasonably. And it's a social norm, meaning that your brother may ease up a bit if you come?" The confidence in John's voice was false as he questioned his own reasoning. He was unsure, really, why he wanted Sherlock to come to the pub, it's not as if he were brilliant company in excessively social situations, and the only time he was known to drink was if he was having an emotion (as proven in the aggravated drinking that takes place in the presence of Mycroft). Despite all this, it was his and Mary's plan to push Sherlock and Molly together, so he continued his failed attempts at persuasion.

"If you come, I'll give you a pack of cigarettes, which you may be free to smoke at the pub."

"John Watson, you know full well there's one of those law things about smoking indoors, I'll have to go outside… and as you mentioned before it's Christmas a cold season if ever there was one." John was not going to win that easily; the challenge was evident in Sherlock's crystalline eyes.

"Fine, do what you want, but Molly will be there and you'll be free to list of deductions at a rate of knots about the unsuspecting, affair having, murderous and devious Christmas public." He could see the resignation in Sherlock, although he would never admit it the decision was made at the mention of the petite pathologist's name, it was evident after the events of the fall Sherlock's feelings toward the woman had changed; although not to the two main parties involved, they were blind with disbelief and denial.

"Aha, I see that you just wish for my presence because I am awe inspiring. Yes, then I shall join you, although you mustn't feel the need to vocalise you wonderment, I do grow tired of you repetitive nature, there are only so many words to describe me and you have used most of them."

"Yeah, git being one of them," John coughed as he spoke, not wanting to fail a succeeding plan in it's first steps… so yes, the plan may have been doomed to fail from the start, but that look from Sherlock at the mention of Molly's name gave John some hope.

* * *

**Molls' meeting us at 8, at the Fox. - Your M&M x**

**Okay, well I've somehow persuaded the statue to move. When shall we meet you? – Hamish x**

**Why are you talking in code Mr Watson, if we're talking in code do we get codenames? You two should come along at half 7, we do want Molly to make a jaw-dropping entrance. – M&M x**

**Nope, no codenames, you are never calling me ****_that_**** again. Half 7 it is then my sweet. – Hamish x**

**Cool, see you there my huggable hamishey waimishey. - M&M x**

**I said NEVER again! – John x**

**Don't be grumpy Hamish. – M&M x**

**Fine, I'm not grumpy. – Hamish x**

* * *

John, Mary and Sherlock had been sitting in the pub for exactly 28 minutes and 44 seconds, according to Sherlock's calculations, and they looked quite the picture. Two people portraying love's young dream, and the third wheel to end all third wheels silently mopping and letting out inaudible growls each time 'love's young dream' dared to touch.

That's when the picture of punctuality walked through the creaking wooden door. Molly Hooper had forgone a coat and was wildly regretting the decision as snow had began it's descent the moment she was exactly half way to the pub, to get to The Fox was a short walk but, unlike Sherlock, the weather, would not forgive her decision to go coatless.

The tight, black, high-waisted skinny jeans Molly was wearing did everything for her figure and nothing for her ability to breath, matching the lifeless black with a Christmassy deep green that paled Molly's skin in a silky top that swooped down at the neck had much the same affect as the jeans. The heels she had chosen levelled her height with the taller Mary and caused the effect of the jeans to emphasise a great deal, their colour, out of mainly coincidence and a bit of womanly know how, matched that of the deep green top. All in all she looked 'drop dead gorgeous', a fact that would not be argued by most of the men and many of the woman that scattered the reasonably empty establishment.

Sherlock's jaw dropped.

John could clearly see the look in his friends eyes the one that questioned how a simple change of clothes could transform Molly from a mousey pathologist with mismatched, thrown on at 4 in the morning, comfy clothes to, well… _this!_Giving him a rough pat on the back did not push Sherlock from his motionless stupor; he was obviously filing the changes within his mind palace before he even neared confronting their meaning to him.

_Wow, uhum… I mean, that's new, the height of her heels gives Molly's posture a boost and causes her to show that she is in fact well proportioned. There's always something I get wrong. That colour suites her skin tone and matches the eye shadow causing her deep brown eyes to shine in the dim light of this terrible place. She looks beautiful… I mean… stunning… I MEAN… gorgeous… Oh, I can't deny it she looks positively exquisite. Dammit, feelings._

A visible shiver rippled through Sherlock, even thinking about emotions caused him a nauseous feeling that settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. As Molly spotted Mary and ran somewhat clumsily toward her friend, having not noticed the looming presence in the shadowed corner, this gut wrenching feeling only worsened, his heart racing; _maybe it's Molly._

"Molls, you look sexay." Molly batted her already tipsy friend on the arm.

"Well I hope you and John are worth my constant numbing discomfort that comes with squeezing into jeans I haven't worn since uni." She laughed.

"Me, John and **Sherlock **are most definitely worth it."

"Oh… Sherlock, I didn't see you there, you do have a tendency to hide in shadowy corners." Molly's voice had started off nervous, she still (and would always) harbour a deep set crush for the consulting detective, and even though the events of the fall had caused her boost in confidence around the intimidating man, being caught off guard was never desirable.

"Less distractions from the moronic public, Molly." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Hi John," Molly waved across to John, ignoring Sherlock's tone and eye roll, "What am I getting everyone? Whilst I'm up I may as well get a round in."

"A whiskey." Nudged in his side Sherlock realised he had forgotten social pleasantries. "Please." He said bluntly with a forced smile.

* * *

2 glasses of wine and 3 supposed diet cokes later, Molly was joining Sherlock on the whiskey. Sherlock had continued to drink as John and Mary had become more and more gropey and emotions tried to niggle their way into the Molly corridors of his mind palace, he was trying to dull his mind and although that was working, Molly's jeans were also doing something to his mind, setting it racing along with his heart.

"You know they got you double vodka and diet coke every time? You," He bopped her on the nose; _what on earth did I do that for?!_ "Molly Hooper, are becoming inebriated." His usual sophisticated tone forgone for a somewhat slur.

"Yes, Sherlock, I know. Because, nuuuumber 1 -" Molly giggled as she heard her elongated 'uh' "- I can taste and smell and hear. Two, anyone would need some form of alcohol to get through an evening with those two lovebirds. Three, you have also had more than enough Mr Holmes. And four call it liquid courage for this…" She kissed him chastely, but with as much passion as her meek nature would manage. It would be best to point out that, Molly and Sherlock by this point had moved well away from Mary and John's affectionate displays and within the little booth they now occupied they had become increasingly close; another excuse for Molly's impulse was the rather limp sprig of mistletoe that hung above her and Sherlock's heads.

As they separated Sherlock realised he'd lost the battle against an emotional minefield, whilst Molly's shocked and apologetic expression spoke louder than the stuttered "Sorry," she tried to force from her lips. Sherlock silenced her again crashing his unpractised lips onto hers.

"Umm, what was that for?"

"One, Molly Hooper, liquid courage. Two, is it not customary when below this infernal plant?" Sherlock spoke as he plucked down the ribboned leaves.

"More than customary, I'd say compulsory. Mr Holmes."

* * *

That is how through stumbled steps, breathless walking, and an intimate cab drive, Hooper and Holmes went toppling into the doors of 221b, the young pathologist inebriated and systematically removing the clothing of a drunken consulting detective.

"Suuuush, John and Mary already made it home." Sherlock giggled uncharacteristically against Molly's lips, a childish grin across his usually stern features.

"We need to be quite or John will try and sober us up with tea… and then try to talk to me about birds and bees!"

"Well you don't need that, you seem to already know your stuff. Sherly."

"Calling me _Sherly_ is not a good way of going about getting me into bed. Hooper!"

Quickly, the halls of 221b became littered with Molly's deep green top and peeled away jeans, Sherlock's navy blue shirt and his usual dress trousers that had been stripped from him (skilfully so for intoxicated hands), and any remaining clothing that would get in their way.

* * *

As they awoke entwined in each other's limbs and covered only by the creaseless silk sheet, only emphasising how little Sherlock slept (especially within his own sheets). Molly shivered as her eyes flickered open to a sight she could quite easily become accustomed to. Sherlock's hair was mushed but his curls still bouncy and his breathing was gentle as Molly noticed watching his naked chest rise and fall, it was oddly calming.

"I know you're staring, Hooper… This was not some drunken mistake?" He could not help the question in his tone; Molly was certainly more forgone than him the night before. The smile that played across her lips answered for him.

The deep baritone drew her from her daydreaming. She noticed Sherlock's eyes linger on her silk clad form.

"And so are you, Holmes." She said leaning up to kiss him, which although awkward was a lovely way to start Christmas day, especially as the mistletoe hung limply by his bedside from Sherlock instance it be brought with them.

"Merry Christmas Molly Hooper." Sherlock whispered on her lips an echo of a Christmas years past.

"Yeah, I don't think it will be particularly merry… I have on hell of a hangover."

"Would you settle for a, contentedly filled with sleep and aspirin Christmas, Molly Hooper." As he looked down at head lying atop his chest she smiled sleepily.

"Yes, that would be perfectly acceptable, as long as there are presents. It is Christmas after all."

"But presents would mean leaving the bed and this," Sherlock gestured at their two intermingled forms.

A cheeky grin spread across the pathologist's faced, a look that reminded him of Ms Adler's constant want for 'dinner'.

"I can think of a few that wont."

* * *

**I can only assume that the plan's worked, Molly's staying for Christmas, be it in Sherlock's bed. – Hamish x**

**I know, love. I'm sitting next to you, nursing a very similar hangover, seeing the same sheet clad Sherlock stealing the last of the bloody aspirin. – M&M x**


End file.
